They set the equipment down. One of the ammo crates had worked itself halfway off the edge, threatening to take two water containers with it.
"I'll get it," Hale said, already moving.
"I'm closer," Elliot said, moving too.
"Jesus. I said I got it." Hale grabbed the ammo crate before Elliot could interfere.
Hale repositioned the water containers; each one landed with a loud, unnecessary thud. Elliot locked down the radio equipment cases, forearms locked, body rigid, refusing to back down.
"You know," Hale said, adjusting the last container, "there’s this saying about there being noIinteam.”
“Funny.” Elliot didn’t smile.
“I mean. You could trust me to handle some of this.”
Elliot stared at him. Hale stared back, eyebrows raised, as if it was a dare.
The crates were stable now. That was what mattered.
"Good?" Hale asked, challenge still in his voice.
"Good."
They lifted again and kept moving. Elliot didn't acknowledge that Hale's restacking had improved the load distribution. No way in hell would he give him the satisfaction. He would never hear the end of it.
Surrounded by nothing but frozen ground, snow-coveredpines, and the peaks cutting hard lines against the sky, they worked on, the hours blurring together. After a long stretch of silence, Hale eventually broke it. "So what's your deal?"
Elliot glanced at him. "My deal?"
"Yeah. You know—where you're from, what made you sign up for this nightmare, what’s your favorite color. The usual small talk."
"I don't do small talk."
"I'm getting that. But we're stuck together for at least another"—he checked his watch—"three hours. Might as well make it interesting."
"Or we could just focus on the work."
Hale laughed, but not in a particularly pleasant way. "You're really committed to this silent type thing, aren't you?"
Elliot didn't answer, which was apparently answer enough.
They worked for another thirty minutes before Hale glanced over at him again. “I'm starting to think you don't like me."
This guy was fucking relentless.
"I don't know you well enough to not like you." Elliot kept his eyes on the path ahead.
"Is that supposed to be reassuring?"
"No. Just stating facts."
Hale gave him a lopsided smile and shook his head. "Okay, man. Fine."
The break from Hale's barrage of questions only lasted minutes before he ran his mouth again—observations about the inefficiency of the routes, speculation about what the instructors were actually measuring. Jokes Elliot honestly didn’t get.
Elliot didn't shut it down entirely, which was tacticallyquestionable, but shutting Hale down felt like more effort than just... letting him talk.
By the time they reached the training grounds, Elliot had catalogued three ways Hale adjusted his stride to match the terrain and two ways he compensated for fatigue without making it obvious.
